


the king of the ashes

by daenaera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'slow burn' - he does not go mad so quickly, Alternate Universe, Based very loosely upon the outline of season 8, But Jon and Dany are only very distantly related, Multi, POV Daenerys, POV Jon Snow, POV Missandei, POV Multiple, R Plus L Equals J, a role reversal but it comes differently, it will be explained, maybe other characters will have small povs, much different timeline, we see a mad jon instead of a mad dany
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 22:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daenaera/pseuds/daenaera
Summary: it is expected for the dragon queen to fall into the madness just as her father did before. to embrace fire and blood as her ancestors have done.no one expects for the son of the righteous and magnificent rhaegar targaryen to embrace the madness of the targaryens.[ alternate universe in which jon becomes known as the king of the ashes ]





	1. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daenerys grapples with a new discovery.

Once more Daenerys misses the nightly meal in the great hall, confined to the chambers that serve more as a prison ward, an illness bounding her to a bowl that lays to the side of her bed. Merely Missandei tends to her, dragging masses of her silver gold tresses into a thick braid, allowing none of the sickness to take even a single touch of anywhere out of the bowl. Her illness is only apparent to herself, Missandei, Jorah, and Grey Worm, and fears to even to speak to Jon of her problem. There is more than enough trouble served on a silver platter for him to last a lifetime. The illness is shrouded in mystery for anyone out of the circle of those close bonds, for she fears the catalyst that has brought her to such an illness.

She has experience of this sickness before, so far long ago it seems, though even now she dreams of the child that was killed in her belly.

Her fright does not come through words, for there is silence between the bouts of illness, but she knows that Missandei feels the fear that builds within her. They are sisters not by blood but by their close bond, and so what the other feels, she immediately knows it as well. It is no time for discussion for the matter, as Daenerys leans into the bowl, violent movements indicating the sickness has hold of her once again. Missandei presses a soft hand to the bottom of her back, ever soothing movements and words that only bring the barest amount of comfort to the ill Dragon Queen. There is a surprising quietness about her emptying the contents of her stomach, a for prevention of anyone else to come upon the noise with a far too avid curiosity.

Grey Worm is posted at her door himself with two other guards of trust, allowing for utter and total secrecy. Perhaps it is an action of dramatics, however Daenerys cannot allow such a potential and powerful secret fall into the hands of one that may wish for her demise.

With her demise that may mean the demise of a potential child, and Daenerys cannot lose another child.

“Oh, Missandei…” There is a groan that deeply embeds itself within her throat and she falls away from the bowl in exhaustion, briefly heaving from such activity. “When I was with child previously, it was never this bad.”

‘Each time it is different, my queen.” Her explanation provides words of comfort, slender fingers woven through silver tresses, a caressing movement of the queen’s head as she lays upon the floor in exhaustion. “But you are strong, you are the Mother of Dragons. This will not prevent you in any way.”

Her brief smile is one of pain but she manages to raise herself from the cool, hard surface of the floor with the assistance of Missandei. Despite the suffering that plagues her, she will not allow herself to falter from her strength. She has an innocent people to defend against the looming threat of the murderous, vicious Others, and she will continue on with her promise. She cannot fail a people simply because she has pains every mother goes through.

“Not that I would allow it to prevent me from achieving my goals.” Even in illness, Daenerys remains attempting to maintain the visage of a warrior queen. “I do not favor the idea of innocents being slaughtered.”

“None of us do, my queen.” Her voice is tinted with a certain concern that draws Daenerys’s gaze to her. “However, how can we allow you to risk your life if you are in this condition?”

There is very strong truth to be found within her words, for she has thought time and time agains that the loss of child would be the undoing of her. Though as she always has been, she remains stubborn in her persistence.

“I will be safely atop Drogon, we have not lost many battles together, he and I.” She thinks for a moment. “Even Jorah and Jon have taught me some basic movements of the sword in which I can defend myself.”

“I still very much have concern for you.” Misnamed is soft in her words, the worry etched deeply upon her beautiful features. “It is no criticism, but rather consideration.”

“You are closest to me, you are a sister to me.” Lightly, she grabs the hand of the other woman, a gesture of her sisterhood. “I will very much heed your advice, of course. However, it is a delicate and complicated situation that I cannot unfortunately escape.”

“It is the fate of queens to always have concern of the people over themselves. Even at the cost of their own care and livelihood.” 

“And I have willingly accept that fate. We cannot allow injustice to prevail when we can bring justice and end to the suffering of the people.” A bittersweet smile is pressed to her lips. “If I did not understand that, then I could not be a queen after all.”

“You are too self-sacrificial for you own good, do you not that?” Missandei means not to criticize, but it cannot be helped when she has viewed Daenerys with a loo of longing in those deep violet eyes. “Yes, you have promised to save these people but you needn’t battle yourself.”

Especially in this condition.

‘They will need the dragons for their victory.” Daenerys presses a hand to the stomach that has yet to swell with the curve of pregnancy. “Only Jon and I can manage them.” If not for her, Drogon is quite likely to include both the white walkers and the living men in his rampage. “I cannot see any other way.”

“If, at least, just the beginning of the battle.” Both know she holds ability to make much contribution in the beginning. “I do not wish to see the sight of my queen be injured or fallen in battle when it could have very easily prevented.”

And even perhaps should be prevented from ever becoming a truth.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Daenerys pays a visit to her dragon children at the first light of dawn, Missandei in attendance with her. In the previous night, the handmaiden had mentioned a discomforted feeling of the unfriendliness of the northerners, with even two children having fear of both herself and Grey Worm. Daenerys makes a promise for the prevention of another episode of discomfort, with clear acknowledgement of the mistreatment of her people by the northerners who know nothing but isolation. Missandei claims further that Daenerys should only take partial, very brief participation of the forthcoming battle (the north would not even appreciate her in victory she ha been told).

“Which further proves that I should fight.” She gifts her attentions to Rhaegal, the dragon of a deep emerald and detailed with shimmering gold scales. Neither a sweet as her former Viserion nor as demanding as Drogon, she has found him to be the dragon that requires the last attention (though he is ever yet needing of her love and attention at times). “I shall need to prove to them that I am not a coward, that I am a warrior queen. “House Mormont is led by a girl of twelve and she is well respected.”

“She was born a northerner, it is natural that respect comes with her birth.” Missandei’s voice is as chilled as the winter winds roughly bites at their skin.

“Either way, I must prove myself in their eyes.”

Daenerys knows that she has already amassed a reputation for her name, especially in coming forth against the Lannister forces directly, though she has come to realization that improvements could be taken in the process of bettering her name in the eye of a distrustful people. She expects very little of Jon in his own defense when it comes to his siblings, for they are yet his family and they are most certainly the ones he should trust the most. 

“You have proven yourself well to the eyes of both the Unsullied and the Dothraki.” Missandei now stands closer, forced by the ever biting winds to be within hearing range of the queen. “You need not worry about gaining the respect of a people we hardly know.”

“They will be my people eventually if we do have victory in this war.” Perhaps the other one does have a point, for the need of respect from the people may be a stress that is utterly unnecessary. “But my people do come first.”

“They will especially be needing your support in these trying times. It is a land far different for them and they cannot adjust to the weather that quickly.”

“I do need an excuse from the political games that Tyrion and Lady Sansa seem to enjoy.” Daenerys possesses an apt mind for politics and the web of schemes often tied to such games, however her mind is made of honesty that is as clear as the night sky. Her negotiations are rough but tactile and most often likes when each opposing aside holds honesty with one another. “I don’t think I could stand those stuffy rooms either.”

“Very much agreed.”

Daenerys forgoes another meal in favor of visiting the Dothraki and Unsullied troops, how is she any leader if she does not visit with her own people in person? Unlike the Great Houses of Westeros, she has earned the genuine love and respect from both the Unsullied and the Dothraki, who follow with a certain vicious willingness rather than a simple obligation. As their revered leader, it is also up to her to keep inspiration and will of the people in positive positions, and so she is an active leader as she always has been and has intended. With words from Missandei, her worries now lay less with the perception of the northerners and now with her people, where it truly belongs.

She dons more practical clothing this day from the extravagant, expensive fur lined coats, consisting of layers of Dothraki leather and riding boots a long sleeved deep blue woolen dress reminiscent of the dress she once wore in Astapor. Blue represents power in the Dothraki culture and she finds it most appropriate to wear among her people. She wears her hair in the fashion of Dothraki braids, truly the representation of the warrior queen that she is. Though she appears much less a Westerosi than a foreigner, Daenerys finds herself immensely more comfortable in the riding leathers and the simple dress, accompanied by her mother’s ring that she always has refused to part with.

“Now you look the role of a khaleesi.” Qhono approves in Dothraki as she makes her entrance into the main tent of the gathered warriors, eyeing the blue with particular interest. “You respect our culture well, and that is a reason that we follow you.”

“Your people are my people and I must respect their customs if I am to be a respected and accepted leader.” She has traveled far from the simple ‘blue eyed witch’ to a leader in which many men have a willingness to die for her. Of course, she will spare a many lives as it is possible, for she takes the loss of lives personally and as great costs. “I also must assure them that I do not lead them to failure, that we will end in victory. I am Daenerys Targaryen, I simply do not fail.”

“We would not have followed you if we thought you had the potential for failure. We have no use for the weak, only for the strong.”

“I was weak once.” She laughs, for she speaks only of the truth, of the past in which she was merely a weak, abused little girl forced to survive under the abuse of her brother and constant danger of Westerosi assassins attempting to kill her. “But now I have the skin of a dragon, the heart of a stallion. I will not fail my people, no matter the odds.”

Though the northerners have not yet come to accept her existence, with the words of Missandei and the active support of her khalasar and the Unsullied, she feels hope burn bright in her one again.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

‘You look much more comfortable in that clothing, I must admit.” Jon allows his finger to trail the intricacies of her Dothraki braids, though his eyes rest upon another place rather than her gaze. “Very unconventional.” He presses a kiss to her temple, clearly unashamed of the passion that builds within the dark pools of his eyes (even if he maintains avoidance of eye contact with her).

“As much as you would like to compliment my fashion and shower me in affection, I guess those are the not the reasons as tho why you summoned me to your chambers.” With great reluctance she pushes Jon away, her hands against his chest for good measure. There is a clear issue that stands among them.

“The north will not be willing to accept you if keep avoiding meals altogether.” There is a sternness to his voice, almost a touch of criticism, speaking as if Daenerys was not adept at communication skills. “You must show your face and get to know them.”

At least the issue is out in the open now.

“My people need me as much as they need you, their king. I must speak to the Dothraki and the Unsullied themselves, they must know that I am still very well connected to them despite all of my time in the keep.”

“You have kept yourself locked in your chambers every night, guards at your door.’ He implies nothing but his tone is a shade threatening, nearly suspicious. “That does not make a good sight for the people of the north.”

Daenerys is quick to even her annoyance against her lover, for the accusing words, as they do not need to resort to an argument on the basis of her temper. Though she cannot prevent the paling of her face with the single mention of keeping herself locked within her chambers, a detail of which Jon easily observes.

“There must be a reason for you isolating yourself.” The previous anger fades, replaced by concern for his lover and the true reasoning for her isolation. “You would not isolate yourself without a good reason in the days growing closer to the battle.” Jon appears understanding now, a hand reaches to cradle her face though it is quickly rejected as Daenerys turns away into the darkness of the room ,the corner where no candles for light are provided.

A silence of discomfort settles heavily in the room and Daenerys can nearly feels the threatening coldness coming to overtake her, she despises the feeling.

“Simply, Jon.” She draws in a deep breath, hands hovering over the swell of her stomach that is to come, and she remains facing the darkness for fear of his reaction. “I have been sick all these past few nights because I am with child.”

Daenerys struggles to not to crumble underneath the heaviness that is the painful silence, tears lightening those violet eyes in building anguish. She is typically adept with the control of such emotions, but for the man she loves to reject their child? To even potentially reject her? it is a thought of devastation that her foolish mind never thought of.

“Now you know the truth, Jon. If it pleases you, now may I take my leave?” The sob burns at her throat to escape but she refuses to allow anguish hold over her, she cannot allow such emotions even in time of heartbreak. “I believed it was right for you to be aware.”  
She does not await his response, beginning her journey from the darkened corner of the spacious but quite empty (it is used so very little) room to the door. She is far from expecting the moment in which she is drawn into his arms, placating her quiet sobs by act of surprise. Daenerys is exhausted. She is far too tired to pull any true strength fro struggles against Jon, and so easily melts into the embrace that she has always found shelter in. Perhaps the stress of keeping her condition shrouded in absolute mystery won out in the end, even as she did make a confession.

“Dany.” Her affectionate nickname is a deep whisper upon his lips and he kisses her pale hair, obviously acts of comfort. She cannot ever deny that Jon is a passionate, generous lover. “When did you discover the pregnancy?”

“Only a short time ago. After my illness was on its course.” 

“Who else knows of the pregnancy?” Just as the truth of the identity of Jon wields potential fatality towards both Daenerys herself and Jon, her pregnancy must remain a secret. 

“Only my most trusted. Missandei, Grey Worm, and Jorah.” It was only with the assistance of Missandei that her sickness came to the truth of bearing a child. She only allows the knowledge spread from herself to her most loyal, for she trusts with all of her heart that no betrayal will ever come to play. “Worry not, they will not speak again.”

“Many people in the realm already want you dead, Dany.” His voice is rough, quite quick to bite, an exploration of reality in spite of the positive news just presented. “This pregnancy will only encourage many to pick up their swords against you much earlier.”

“The would not dare to harm an unborn child.” Daenerys is so adamant upon the fact, nearly to the point that she is nearly too naive for Westeros, or simply she places too much faith upon a people that are doing the most to keep the structures of oppression. 

“Stannis Baratheon burnt his own daughter to serve this supposed R’hllor, the Lord of Light.” Daenerys is certainly horrified in the thought of that horrifying fate for simply being a supposed use for a religious reason. “People are much crueler here than many realize.” Jon tucks fingers under her chin, a gentle caress of her cheek. “I should know, I was a bastard.”

“They do not take too kindly to bastards and I suspect that will never change.” Daenerys’s hands once more hover the invisible swell of her stomach in a manner of protectiveness. “But an unborn child…?” It should come far from a surprise for her, for she has lost a child in the womb because of a witch, and yet it does still. 

“No.” Jon confirms in a cool, blunt tone. “It will never change, however our child does not have to live as I did.” He lays a hand against Daenerys’s own hand that is placed against her stomach, a flare of emotion raising in those dark eyes. “I promised myself that I would not sire a bastard because of what I had to go through. That will not begin now.”

Her eyebrows raise in suspicion, shock twisted with a glimmer of hope gleams in her eyes for the suggestion that he implies.

“Would you really do that, Jon?” Her voice lowered, deeply thickened with the emotions she has kept at bay for so long. “That would mean you would need to rule beside me when I take the Iron Throne.” She very much knows he is distrustful of the idea of the acceptance of the crown, though he does make for a very capable leader and king.

“I would do anything to protect my child.” His voice is gruff, the determination that is very clear brings Daenerys to a brief, temporary peace. “If there is ever a promise that is unbreakable, it is that.”  
“I believe you.” Her words do not grow louder than her breath, finding reassurance in this terribly timed mess. “Just promise me that you will not tell anyone. Not yet, at least.” She does not beg nor does she plead, for it is common sense that they would not allow such vital information to fall into the hands of the enemy with such ignorant ease.

“The politics are already far too much a mess, I agree.” He is of Rhaegar Targaryen’s blood and he might have the mind of quick cleverness and wise intelligence, though he does not take interest at all, as Daenerys has come to observe. Though it is not far from shock, for while Rhaegar was heir to her father, he descended from a cadet branch of House Targaryen, and never truly her brother as she had came to learn long ago from Ser Barristan Selmy. She merely knows that their relations are very far in truth, they could not even be considered cousins in truth, though Aerys had adopted the boy as poor Rhaella provided no living heirs save for herself and Viserys. Rhaegar remained the heir nevertheless, in consideration of his immense popularity and potential for the throne. Leading to Jon’s own position as heir to the throne (even if he does lack interest) as Jaehaerys Targaryen, the son of the official heir to the Iron Throne before the overthrow of House Targaryen.

Daenerys herself is a genuine claimant as well, of origins of the bloodline of Aerys, though she knows the doubt of a trueborn child of Aerys on the Throne over the line of Rhaegar.

“Most importantly, the safety of our child.” For the moment, Daenerys cares not for the politics, but for her love and for the child that is to be born. “Besides the Iron Throne and politics seem to hardly matter when winter is coming.”

In the solemnity of their situation, Jon chuckles, the briefest shining light in a time of terrible darkness.

“Save for the battle, concealing this secret should be our top priority.” It will become obvious as time passes and she grows with the growth of the child, but it is a problem that can be remedied in the future. “I refuse to lose another one of my children.”

“The witch did lie to you after all.” He quietly makes reference to the conversation they had months ago, of Daenerys’s unwavering belief in her condition of being barren (a belief that had been built on false words). “You will bear another living child.”

“I have never been so happy to be incorrect in my life.”

There is scarce time for any celebration, however, for their attention is drawn to their duties once more, for the preparation of the battle. Daenerys has yet to question him for his view of her involvement in the battle, though it will come to be her final decision (she is a queen after all, and queens do not allow others to choose their decisions even if they are indeed lovers). Jon is called to his family, a meeting of the remaining Starks of Winterfell in discussion of northern forces and assistance and the supplies of the north. There is merely tense cooperation between her own armies and the Stark and northern forces, so it is not a shock that Daenerys is not provided an invitation. 

Is she hurt for such callous rejection? Certainly not, for she has come to learn to care little for the feelings of others and more about herself. Is she hurt for lacking a family truly connected by blood? Perhaps, however her own closest friends are the family she possesses and they much more than merely make up for the lack of blood relatives. She sees them more as her beloved family than she ever did her cruel, abusive elder brother.

She attends to her troops once more, solidifying the battle plans and their strategies, all with the knowledge they will be required to collaborate with the northerners soon. She holds strong confidence in her armies, they are mighty warriors who know only strength and rarely fail on the battlefield,though she is quite concerned that they may be the ones to pay the price for the protection of the castle from the Army of the Dead.  
She intends not to provide sacrifices for the protection of the people without gaining an equal return (even if she does fight for the cause of the innocent, without any underlining,mercenary motives).

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Daenerys attends the dinner that night, providing an image of a concerned queen and not building to the belief that she is merely woman who concerns herself with her own needs and goals. She seats herself at the head table, to the left of Jon, continuing to don her blue dress and Dothraki leathers that truly present her as a ‘foreign’ queen. She allow them to judge her as they see fit, without the true knowledge of her character, for they do not have the power to back her away into a corner, cowering away from the world. She meets the gaze of Jon, though only allows it for a moment, she does not wish for a appearance other than an alliance between the north and the Targaryen queen.

Her sighs are soft and she manages few attempts of eating what is provided however the sickness hints its return in each moment. She has not spoken a word amongst the loud speaking of those also within the great all, and the high tensions of sitting with both Jon and Lady Sansa brings a great weight upon her shoulders. The other woman has hardly uttered a word herself save for a small conversation with Jon that Daenerys did not particularly care to hear for. In these loud settings and the utter isolation from anyone else, she feels a desperate need to escape the great hall and into her chambers, where she can rest with relative peace.

“Are you not feeling well?” The question comes moments before she rises from her chair, and it is as if Jon has read her mind. Though she may not appear the best, a frown touching her lips, and she is positive that she may appear a green shade in color. Worry is etched into his scarred features and Daenerys knows that he cares not for any reaction or rumor that may bloom from even the briefest interactions. He does not listen to the voices that have the potential to lead him off track. “I will escort you to your chambers if you do not feel well.”

Daenerys pauses, contemplating her options but comes to accept his offer of an escort to her chambers. She much prefers not to be found in the chilling cold, sick, because she was unable it to make it to her chambers.

“I see no harm in you escorting me.” Her smile is polite as she raises herself from the chair, though the weakness that courses through her veins creates a vision of darkness that grasps her for a moment. If not for the steadiness that is Jon, she would have fallen to her feet, though the hand that grasps her arm is steady and holds her still. She manages a small thanks however she composes herself, for she cannot fail in her creation of an image of a queen to be respected.

“Steady now.” He murmurs in utter ignorance of the stares that begin to fall upon Lord Snow and his assistance of the queen herself. A hand to her back, he weaves her way from the table among other people, and only pays Sansa few words, informing her that the queen has taken ill for the night. There is suspicion within Daenerys that the other may not believe the words, though she has her own concerns with her health that need be addressed first before her other concerns.

Relief comes as soon as the chilled winter air breathes into her face, the thick air and noise of the great hall dissipating. She continues leaning against Jon for support, because the illness is not cleared away so quickly. 

“Now you truly see why I have been alone in isolation.” Her words are more alike murmurs, with her concentration focused upon walking rather than being dragged. “My condition is never easy to cope with and it only goes away in months.” It is not so much the illness itself that provides concern but rather the telltale signs of pregnancy that will come to plague her (even if they do come in the distant future, rather than the present).

“You have been suffering all this time and I have not known about it.” She knows not if it is anger, frustration, or concern or even a mixture of the three emotions that make up his voice, though he certainly is upset. It nearly charms Daenerys until she does remember the importance of the situation, she cannot afford to take any matter lightly.

“I was only wanting to find the opportune moment to tell you.” She has little excuse and reasoning, though he must understand from her perspective of safety dnd wariness of any danger that may come along. “I was never intending to conceal it from you.”

“You could have at least told me you were not feeling well rather than just isolate yourself without a word.”

“I do not make the wisest decisions when I am ill I must admit.” Lightly she is laughing and falls into the warmth of her lover, without a person to watch them. “Besides you were far too worried with other things, you did not need me with those worries.”

“You are my first and foremost concern.” He states simply but with a finality that brings in another layer of solemnity. She very much knows they are in love with another, but she could never see either of them forgoing love for their duty, especially when it comes to their people.

“You have your family, Winterfell, the north… Surely they must be all important concerns for you.” Again there is the division that separates Daenerys from even Jon and though it is painful to recognize, she cannot simply refuse it.

 

“Of course they are all important concerns to me.” He murmurs ever so softly, only that Daenerys could hear. “But even so, they don’t prevent me from loving you.”


	2. Missandei I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missandei struggles in the north.

The wintry air is a sharp blade to her skin, chills falling all upon her body despite the thick layers of leather that she dons. Minsk invisible to the eye lines her clothing, though it is little protection against the winds of this barren land. A hateful woman Missandei is not, but she has grown to have negative feelings and connotations with the north from the chills the awake her each morning to the gazes of judging peasants and unearned antagonism. Is there resentment towards her queen for this situation of dislike and hostility? No. Missandei only thinks it is a shame that they cannot be hosted without involving the people who so clearly do not desire their presence here in any way, shape, or form. However, she does understand that Daenerys is not in control of the power in this place, rather it lays with House Stark.

Though she figures that Lady Sansa leads the north,for she is Lady of Winterfell, and curiously she wonders about how much influence the figure Jon Snow truly wields with their people. Missandei assumes he holds a powerful position of influence and is revered among their leaders, otherwise Daenerys would not have chosen him as her lover.

There is ever yet a shadow of reluctance for acceptance of Jon into her life, for Daenerys deserves the genuine love of another, with the assurance of correct treatment. Missandei desires not for another repetition of Daario, whose desires outweigh any hint of genuine love for the Dragon Queen. Missandei knows very well the concept of love and what her queen had shared with her advisor and sellsword. Though she has found honor in Jon Snow, she knows nothing of him and een less of his heart, leaving her to ponder the positive gains to be found in the relationship.

Especially now that Daenerys is with child.

“I do not know if I view him as an honorable man or not.” Missandei states clearly as she stands at the side of Torgo Nudho in observation of the training of the Unsullied. He appears not greatly affected by the cold climate of the north, positioned in that rigid standing position as he always is. “He has proven his worth in battle but is he honorable?“

Missandei knows at the least it could come as a difficult task if Daenerys was left a bastard with no offers of marriage.

“Most of these Westerosi men do not know the true meaning of the word of honor.” He is blunt but very apt in his analysis, his dark eyes only briefly meeting Missandei’s own in a moment. “I do take Jon Snow for a man of honor, however. He has shown very little resemblance to that of a typical Westerosi man.”

Missandei arches a dark eyebrow with curiosity, for the strokes of his assumptions are broad (though not without their truths either). How has he come to know this Jon Snow and the weaker men that he makes comparison to?

“I suppose that I should not worry for our queen if you have gotten to know him and approve of him.”

“It is not my place to judge her choices, however I do not think I will ever have to place a dagger in his heart.” His answer is simple, bearing very little detail, but it will have to do (and what should she expect? it is Torgo Nudho after all).

“Until he puts a child in her belly and leaves her.” She has seen even the looks of the peasants to Daenerys and the north are not overly fond with the idea of this foreign queen in their lands.

“Is that your assumption?”

“It is always well for the preparation of the worst of betrayals.” It is clear that Missandei does not firmly trusts the northern bred man. “It is not in our best interest either.”

Though her confidence in Daenerys far from wavers, she knows of the potential problems that may befall them if she takes a loss instead of a victory. The thought of remaining in the cold, emotionless north of the Westerosi continent gives Missandei physical pain, imagining that she cannot return to her beautiful Isle of Naath.

“I only hope that he does not betray her.” They have travelled far and pursued a journey of constant obstacles and dangers, all meaningless and easily destroyed by a betrayal that may pass. “They do not seem like they would release us that easily.”

“On the contrary.” He muses with subtle disdain. “They most likely desire to send us on the ships and back to where we came from.”

“Back where we knew the cultures and there was always some semblance of understanding of our experiences.” Missandei sighs with light reminiscence. “Back where it was warmer and where Daenerys was truly happy as well.”

It is in the very privacy of these moments that they say the name of not just the queen, but of the woman behind the queen, in complete and utter separation of her title.

“Our mission was over there, but now it has just begun here.” And yet Missandei cannot wait until it draws to a close, when Daenerys Targaryen finally draws victory and with assure peace, Missandei and her lover return to her origins in the Isle of Naath.

“It will be all the more difficult dealing with them.” In her peripheral vision lays northerners observant of their every move, bringing a more terrifying chill down her spine. “And it appears they do not follow the orders of our queen as well.”

“You have spoken to her of them?”

“Naturally. She does not tolerate any of the disrespect in her court, why should she tolerate it here?” Though it is also natural that they would not take orders from a foreign queen. “Though they prefer to be ignorant rather than accept us.”

“It is their problem then.” He notes astutely, a rigid nod of his head in approval of the Unsullied and their success with the training. “For we will win this war with their help or not.”

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Missandei gently tends to the flames of the fire of the chambers, awaiting the return of Daenerys from her nightly visit of the dragons. Though the illness still takes negative effects upon her body, she manages it enough to visit her already birthed children. Misnamed had taken the route of settling the fire with presence to avoid the chilling climate and often she wonders how Daenerys is able to manage such an accomplishment. After all, she has very little knowledge of the coldness herself, her childhood spent in a variety of the Free Cities among the coasts and tropical waters of Essos. 

Though she also has always proved to be a devoted mother even in the roughest of times. 

Missandei is only drawn from her task through the soft pounding of the chamber’s great oaken door, a much deeper sound than the style of Daenerys’s knocking. She sighs, raising up from the warmth of the thick rug, her black skirts swirling about her feet. Upon the discovery, Missandei had grown quick to despise winter fashion and often he longs for the loose and soft silks and fabrics in Meereen and Essos, dyed in all of the colors one imagines. 

It is one of the many tiny details that she laments over in her silence.

There is a brief reluctance within her to answer the door, with no knowledge of the source but she also need to address them that the queen hold an audience for them. On the great oaken door there is a series of locks that she must decipher (for safety of the queen, of course, though no one had been consulted with the provision), though with days of practice, the task is now easier than picking a simple lock.

The door swings open and Jon Snow takes a step into the dimmed light of the room in all of his commanding glory. 

“M’lord Snow.” Her head dips in proper respect though she is far from the impression of awestruck respect, as she has granted no other man the pleasure of such an expression. “If you wish to hold an audience, the queen is visiting her dragons.”

“She is feeling better tonight, then?” When Missandei provides no answer for him in a moment, Jon is quick to fill in. “She has informed me of her condition. No need to keep anything from me.”

So he knows of the child that rests within Daenerys? Misnamed says not a word yet, resting a hand upon the chair of a writing desk that is tucked in a corner of the spacious room. Her molten dark yes flicker over Jon in a sheen of coldness, very much clear that it is an examination of judgement of his character. Of course, she will maintain the civility, however it does mean she must accept the supposed concern of this northern man (she has yet to form a true relationship with him).

“She grew ill earlier this evening but she has recovered.” She does not recognize the provided extra detail, as it is now knowledge among all those closest to Daenerys now. “I am not sure when she will return.”

“That is very good news to receive.” Jon nods curtly, a blink of relief in his eyes. “Will she take me on tonight or will I need to leave until tomorrow morning?”

“I recommend morning. The queen requires her rest, as everyone else does.”

Jon parts his lips though there is not a s sound to be heard and he presses them back together, as if he was so lost in his thoughts that he had lost his own words. It is the truth that Missandei provides, for her queen does need rest, however she also believes the appearance of Jon Snow in the night will bring unnecessary stress.

“You do not trust me, do you?” He is blunt but there is no appearance of an edge of cruelty, and rather a wary curiosity is his tone.

There is expectation for her honesty, for her own bluntness, and Missandei has never taken to the fashion of lying with any ease. Now that here voice is given back to her, she only allows words of the purest honesty to leave her lips.

“I know of your worth in battle and you have proved loyalty to the queen. But I know not of your true character and your intentions.” If he expects another answer, he does not show. “I do not know if I should truly trust you. All I know is that you will have a thousand swords in your back if you betray her.” It is not an idle threat, as it is not only her that would seek vengeance for the queen, Daenerys has garnered respect from a great many people.

“I dare not dream of betraying the queen.” There is almost a wistful expression that sits on his face. “I do not give a damn about what may be said about me, it’s my life.” He looks to her with sincere solemnity in his eyes. “You do not have to trust me yet or not at all if if that does not suit you. But I swear to you that I will never be the one to betray her.”

Missandei knows Daenerys is much more than the position of queen to him and she can see the truth on his face.  
“Is it a promise that you can forever keep?” The temptation of a false promise does not please her, she has had heard of far too many empty promises in her life. “Someone close to me considers you honorable, I hope that you can keep that honor.”

“No man is perfect in his honor.” Jon laughs a hard, bitter laugh, completely devoid of any humor. “I am the farthest one to be lecturing anyone on honor. Though even if I have made many regrettable mistakes, mistakes that make me a man… This loyalty is not a mistake. I believe she is the one that will help us most during the Long Night.”

“Is that all she is to you then? A queen and an ally for some battle that she is better off not fighting?” 

“Dany is…” Jon is quick to correct the affectionate name and Missandei tilts her head in curiosity. “She is very important to me outside of her role as queen. But now, our feelings must be cast aside for this forthcoming battle. It is to save us all, of course.”

Missandei knows he tries so hard to conceal the truth of his feelings, the struggle of emotion on his face only confirms the validity.

“Just be careful that duty does not ruin what has been built.” She thinks not of it as a warning, but a remembrance of a cautionary tale. “Though my queen has sought the throne, she is so much more than a pawn to be used for any battle and any throne. I hope that you can recognize that.”

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Missandei knows the truth of Jon’s love for Daenerys and she cannot bring herself to deny facet of his genuine feelings for the queen. She is in a debate with herself over his potential actions when this battle is done, though there is little reason to worry about such trivial subjects in these moments. She has taken to the translation of some High Valyrian scrolls into the common tongue of the Westerosi, with preference to avoid any watchful, judgemental eyes of any northerner. She prefers the peace of her room and while translation can be a menial task, it certainly brings her peace in these times of stress and worry. Though she has always persisted in the campaign under the queen, she is the furthest away from a warrior and she recalls little information of being a warrior (for she was raised on ideals of pacifism and had never seen a war until her capture).

Both she and Daenerys know the scrolls hold little value, though it is an activity of productivity that she can accomplish and draws her mind from the inevitable battle.

“Here.” Daenerys had ever so gently pushed the scrolls to Missandei and they smelled of the old dust of Dragonstone’s ancient library. “I found these while I searched the library at Dragonstone. I figured that   
you would like them.”

Missandei had accepted them with great curiosity and appreciation for the potential of new knowledge. High Valyrian is not spoken by the Westerosi she has found, for only the highborn children of the Targaryens only; had the access to the language. Missandei is a linguist, she is a translator in training and the gift for learning languages comes naturally. Even so, the concept of only a single tongue spoken in the vast lands of the continent is a shock of culture. In Essos, it is a normalcy for even the youngest of children to speak multiple languages (and quite often a tool for their survival in a diverse world). So it does not come out as a wonder for the lack of translation of the scrolls after centuries.

Not that they wield any information of use, merely poetry and prose that reflect the lives and the times of the Targaryens in Westerns and even a sliver of their time on the Valyrian Peninsula. A deeply foreboding and dark history indeed.  
The chamber provided for her is comfortable and warm, if a little small and lacking windows, and just a turn of the tower from the chambers of Daenerys. Among the provisions are full amenities, though they are only given with a hostile glance and genuine disregard, and Missandei has learned not to rely upon any service that the northerners provide for her. One day, she swears to herself without a revelation of her emotions, she will treat them with the reality of their cold treatment of her.

Her study of the scrolls are intense passion embedded within each stroke of her translation, such passion only reflected in the most devoted of scholars to decipher the texts. It speaks of Rhaenyra Targaryen, of the Dance of the Dragons, and ultimately the fall of the Targaryen dragons for centuries to come. It is a tale of tragedy and immense caution, but Missandei hardly finds herself in sympathies with the plight of the Targaryens of the past. She knows that Daenerys will not befall such a tragic fate and rather become the true first ruling queen of her house once they have achieved victory.

She cannot imagine the struggle ending in death. Not now, when happiness and their goal is so within the reach of their grasp.

Missandei only breaks from her task, a scroll fully translated in its text in all of its entirety, upon hearing of a familiar knocking. The knocking is gentle with a charming politeness, reserved for only the closest of friends, not a hint of the ruthlessness that has so become embedded in the personality of Daenerys Targaryen. It is not a far walk from the seat to the door and she allows the entrance of the queen, who is light on her feet as ever.

“My queen. What may I do for you?’ She questions and it is only a moment into the entrance of Daenerys that her eyes narrow int upon the pale purple that has formed upon a pallid cheek of the queen. It is an emotion between dread and fear that fills her for the thought of the abuse of the queen (she should have been at her side all this time). Misnamed is nearing to bringing her question forward when a hand is raised against the potential protest.

“As you can see, I do have a small injury on my face the color of my eyes.” She chuckles and it becomes clear it is not a situation of dire consequences. “Jorah and I were training with swords and I accidentally tripped over a root.”

Itn her condition, training with swords? It matters not how early her stage is, but Missandei is very much aware of the dangers of pregnancy and the dangers of the loss of innocent unborn children. 

“You are lucky that it is not worse.” It is merely a gentle scolding as she presses two fingers softly to the bruising. “You should not risk yourself so easily.”

“I have to find a way to defend both you and me during this battle.” Misnamed knows that Daenerys still intends to front the battle, the use of her dragons giving them distinct advantages. “I do not intend on dying.”

“Fighting does not always ensure your survival and you could just be dying a foolish hero’s death.” And she deserves so much more than a simplistic, easily forgotten demise. Though her winter furs conceal her condition, Missandei pays a glance to the ever invisible bump. “I know that you will say no, but it would be much better for us if you stayed safe.”

Cautiously Missandei wonders if the subject as arisen with the couple, for she cannot see Jon easily agreeing with the stance of Daenerys with the knowledge of her pregnancy. It is one thing that she may have agreement with him.

“You are far too kind, my sister.” Daenerys murmurs and begins the unravel the complex, intricate system of her braided hair. “But I must fulfill my role as queen and ally to the northerners. I cannot fail my people in the very last moment.”  
It appears that Daenerys remains in the staunch position of tending to the battle itself, not a change in their shared conversation in the days’ past. Her many plaits soon fall to curls the color of the snow and presents Missandei with the woman she has come to know as sister. 

“I suppose that your mind will not be changed.” It is far from that she disapproves of the queen’s choices, but she only wishes to urge for caution in her decision.

“Simply, I do not have a choice in the matter unfortunately.” Daenerys sighs, stripping herself of her white winter furs, wearing a thick dress of crimson wool that only tops at her neck. Much more a woman of the earth rather than a regal dragon queen. “I must lead them to victor or I will not receive the respect from the northerners.”

“If it means anything to you… You will always have my respect and trust.” Daenerys had allowed the freedom of herself and millions of other innocents from the bondage of freedom and refusing all gratitude. The liberator whose only reason was for the freedom of the people, dealing justice to those that committed injustice. “We know who you are even if they do not.”

“You are the closest one I have, and your opinion is the most important.” Regret plays upon her lips and there is a shake of her pale head. “They will likely attempt to oust me if I do not take charge of certain battle plans.”

All made more difficult by the secret pregnancy of Daenerys, whose lives were to be in danger if the news breaks out far too easily.

“So they expect you to save them and they likely won’t be grateful for it.” Missandei cares not to view their logic, for there is none at all. “You need to talk to Jon about the disrespect that you’re receiving. It is unfair to all of us that have played our roles and put in our efforts.”

If Missandei demand action, it is likely the queen will listen and follow through. There has yet to be a broke promise shared between them.

“We certainly cannot force them to change their attitudes overnight, over a little decent and respect can go a long way.” Daenerys does well to shoulder her true emotions away, hough there is the anger that is deeply embedded into her violet eyes. Even with her reluctance in the trust of Jon Snow, she is quite aware that he may be the only one to shift the attitudes of his northern allies. “Perhaps, yes. I will speak to Jon of the matter. It should have not happened in the first place.”

“We’re different… So I suppose it was bound to happen.” Though both know that such unfamiliarity does not excuse the utter disrespect and negative attitudes. 

Missandei then speaks of the translation of the scrolls and of Rhaenrya and the Dance of the Dragons, and Daenerys is taken in with a strong fascination. It is the era in which the Targaryen dragons became extinct and now Daenerys is the one to bring them to life once more, a fascinating connection to be seen. Though she does not take admiration for either Rhaenyra nor Aegon II Targaryen, for they served as villains for all of Westerns and not only their own stories. The corruption and the hunger for power that drove them into the civil war now runs in the veins of the current queen that sits the Iron Throne. Daenerys has sworn time and time again to Missandei that she will not fall in such a dark, corrupted path.

“Though Aegon might have sat the throne, neither he nor Rhaenyra never would have been true rulers.” She has long known the history, and Daenerys has always considered them a tale of caution and of avoidance. “They served themselves and not the people as they should have. Their cruelty and willingness to commit unspeakable crimes only prove their unworthiness.” 

In truth, Daenerys had long ago informed Missandei, much of House Targaryen was not worth of the title and crown of the Seven Kingdoms, with only concern on furthering their goals and power over the realm.

“If the crown does not serve the people, the crown should not exist at all.” Missandei knows very little of the Westerosi politics but from her experience with Varys and Tyrion, it sounds as if none of them care for the people, only their schemes and control of the crown. 

“Which is why we must break the wheel?” She supplies, recalling a conversation between herself and Daenerys many moons ago. “To stop the oppression.”

“Exactly.” Daenerys smiles. “But first we must survive the battle against this other evil. I do not make empty promises.”

Missandei supposes that she now understands the insistence of Daenerys in her participation of the battle, as it is a battle for all of humanity. However there is a bitterness that swells within her at the thought of the queen of the Seven Kingdoms lunging back in that garbage of a capital city with all of the safety in the world,w without a threat in her life. Even more so when she does not send the necessary help for the battle and leaving her enemies as sacrifices for an entire army that is dead and coming to conquer the continent. It is no wonder to her now that Daenerys desires to break the wheel, to break the oppression of thea ges.

“We will survive.” Her determination peaks through her sharp one of voice. “You, as the Mother of Dragons herself, will not allow us to perish so easily.”

She is confident in her queen and her queen only and she will not bow easily to the wills and disrespect that have been given generously in return. Perhaps when the battle is victorious the respect will be given, but Missandei cannot help the bitterness (it is a human emotion and she has every right to feel it).

“Though that does not mean I still like the idea of you on the front lines or even defense.” She teases lightly even as the other’s mind has been made. “But less on that… How have you been feeling today?” There is little reason to speak of stress when other subjects are available to them, not consuming their lives in complete and utter turmoil. “Any illness?”

“I have been far too occupied to take notice of it in all honesty.” Daenerys laughs, touching a hand to her stomach, an almost longing expression in her eyes. “I consider myself lucky that I did not feel anything.”

“It would have not looked well for you if you grew sick during your council meetings.”

“Rumors would have arisen from poisoning to just a simple illness, but it would have been a mess to handle.” There is a brief silence. “A possible speculation about a pregnancy.”

“They would not go so far as to harm an innocent, unborn child, would they?” Even Missandei could not pin such a horror to the political rivals that may arise from the complex situation. 

“I do not wish to find out.” It appears that Daenerys does not believe it so either, however she cannot take any risks. “It must be a secret for as long as it is possible.”

Missandei nods with agreement, a frown marring her lips in such a suggestion of potential threats and actions. The queen only holds a ruthlessness for her enemies and she bestows gifts and mercies upon her allies, and even now she is granting the use of her armies and her people for the defending of the north against this inhuman threat they have all spoken of so intensely. There is no denial of her questioning of the loyalty of Varys and Tyrion to their queen, but she cannot imagine even them making chance to murder an innocent child (even if their morals are justly brought into questioning at times). Missandei knows it is the worst of times to be in consideration of plots and schemes when focus should be upon the preparation for a battle that can claim all of their lives. 

However, she knows there are figures here that yet wish to focus on other subjects such as the matter of politics and their own personal choice in the game that is the control of the Seven Kingdoms. 

“You will never have to find out, because it will never happen.” Gently she comforts Daenerys, a hand caressing her shoulder in gentle fashion. “They will not have the chance to hurt either you or the unborn child.”

Daenerys realizes the implications of her statement and shakes her head quickly, admonished at the thought.

“Do not involve yourself in these games of politics just for my sake. I will not lose an innocent life to those that want me dead.” 

“If I protect you, then you are protecting my interests and me as well.” A cool, calculated reassurance that she hopes will convince the queen. “I do not intend on directly involving myself, however I do want to listen to them, to see if there are any signs of discord.” Perhaps she will even consider informing Torgo Nudho and Jon Snow of her plans, for they will most certainly agree with her. “They do not believe that I can truly understand them, but they just underestimate me.”

Daenerys takes moments to carefully study the proposition with great hesitation on her features, with the importance of her closest friend in her life and yet needing to know the potential plots that build against her even as she is doing the best for the people. Much like Missandei, she has come to realize the importance of politics both on the battlefield and the politics of those that do not fight but command nevertheless.

“Listen to what you may, but do not involve yourself at all.” She touches Missandei’s hand, a gleaming sadness in her eyes. “I do not want my survival to come at the cost of your own. You deserve your own happiness, Misssandei. Do not risk it all just for me.”

“Do you remember what you told me when you helped to liberate myself and many others? That I could be harmed, fall into sickness, and even be killed.” There is determination in her voice and she wants Daenerys to hear it. “I said only two words, Valar morghulis.”

“But we are not men.”


End file.
